


Nail Polish

by audrey1nd



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Nail Polish, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrey1nd/pseuds/audrey1nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandra paints her nails once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nail Polish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skieswideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/gifts).



> Thanks to [cheesecake12](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesecake12) for the beta!

Sandra paints her nails once a week. No matter what has happened or is going on, she always makes time for it. She wipes away last week's polish (and all that happened the week before) and chooses a new shade for the coming week. Maybe last week was a pale pink, but with the week she has coming, she feels the need for a violent red. 

Her precinct is under attack. Last week she'd lost almost half of her department. Not to mention all the MX's that the department couldn't really afford to replace. And now came all the bureaucratic bullshit. She had better things to do. Like trying to figure out what the fuck had happened. Her team had walked into an ambush. She had no clue who was responsible. Maybe John would be able to tell her what had happened when he woke up. He was the only survivor and he was in a coma and missing a leg.

She sighs as she finishes the second coat of red, settling down on her couch to watch something as her nails dry. Maybe a movie. All that's been on these days has been news stories about what happened and she's not really in the mood to see that.

 

Valerie Stahl walks into her office a week later. She's young, smart, and determined and just who Sandra needs. Sandra doesn't care that she's a chrome, only that she gets her work done and does it right. And that's exactly what Valerie needs too.

 

One day while they're working through the stack of files that threatens to fall off Sandra's desk (she prefers hard-copy these days after what happened), Valerie compliments her on her nails. They're a watermelon color for the summer, which she's feeling optimistic about. John's still in a coma, but her precinct is healing and moving on.

"Thanks. I do them myself every week." John used to come over on Sundays to watch sports and tease her while drinking her beer.

"I don't think I could ever find the time for that," Valerie says as she examines her own nails. They're short and trimmed, but devoid of any color. There's gun oil under some of her nails.

"I try to make time. It's like washing away each week and starting new." The nail polish remover has become a comfort to her in the wake of John's absence. He always complained about the smell.

"I like that. Maybe I'll try it."

"It hides the dirt too," Sandra deadpans, looking down at Valerie's hands.

She blushes. "But which is worse, gun oil under the nails, or chipped nails?"

"Have you ever seen me with a chipped nail? You don't need to worry about chipped nails with the new polishes and topcoats they have these days. Even doing it yourself and not at a salon."

Valerie smiles at her and for once Sandra doesn't feel so alone. 

 

It's a month before Sandra feels comfortable enough with Valerie to invite her over for a beer and sports. She's spent enough time with Valerie to know that she'd accept. Sandra sometimes sees her sitting at her desk after hours watching games in the dark. She's not John, but sometimes it's nice to have a girl around too. Valerie doesn't tease her about the doilies that her grandmother made. She accepts them just like she accepted Sandra's pink nails. 

 

It becomes a regular thing. They settle into a friendship that involves weekly nail sessions and sports. Valerie is just what Sandra needed. 

 

They've been friends for over a year when John wakes up. She'd painted her nails a pale pink for the week. Everything had settled in and was going well. Her department was running well and had a great solve rate. She guesses it was time for something to go wrong.  
She's almost relieved when she walks into the hospital to find John yelling at an orderly. The synthetic leg she knew they'd had waiting for when he woke up is halfway across the room, next to an overturned chair. 

"I don't care that it's the newest tech. I'm not going to be having some robot controlling where I go!"

The orderly (who she recognizes from her previous visits) looks at her and runs out of the room when she nods at her.

"John," she greets, waiting for him to calm down before she tries to talk to him.

"Sandra," he grumbles. She can tell he's already feeling ashamed for how he treated the orderly.

"This isn't just about your leg, is it?" She goes over to the leg and picks it up. It's solid, but not too heavy. She rights the chair and sits down in it, the leg across her lap. She heard that he had woken up when she got into work this morning, but wasn't able to get there until this evening. He'd had some time to adjust, though he would definitely need physical and mental therapy before coming back to the force.

John heaves a sigh. "What, no asking me how I'm feeling? Not even going to ask how I feel about not having a leg anymore?"

"Well, it's clear that you're not happy with the prosthetic. And the yelling tells me that you're perfectly fine other than the leg. So why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"I knew I never should have become friends with you," John grumbles. "I don't trust it. I don't trust them."

"Them?" Sandra prompts.

"Robots, tech with a mind of its own, you know. When it came down to it the MX was useless. It tried to stop me from going in and saving people! It just left!"

"Maybe if you'd listened you would still have your leg. We got the footage, you know. Well, not all of it, but enough to know that you tried your best to save Pelham. But you're right; the MX should have helped you. But a prosthetic leg isn't an MX. Have they shown you how to put it on? Why don't we go for a walk and you can try it out? See if it tries to take over."

She gets up and holds the leg out to John. He takes it. "Yeah, they did." His voice is raspy, and he curses under his breath as he attaches the leg. He steps onto it and doesn't fall flat on his face. Sandra thinks he'll be just fine, personality aside. She wonders how he'll get along with Valerie. Hopefully sports night will continue. She feels the need for a red polish.


End file.
